


Writing Prompts

by katalicz



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure!Bandit, Multi, Prompt Fill, skydiving shenaniganry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2019-10-11 05:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17440433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katalicz/pseuds/katalicz
Summary: A series of short prompts filled from tumblr:97: Twitch/Glaz - "You're so cute when you pout like that."32: Blitz/Bandit - "This is, by far, the dumbest thing you've ever done."100: Blitz/Bandit - "I adore you."84: Jäger/IQ - "I can't believe you talked me into this."19: Blitz/Bandit - "I could kill you right now!"





	1. 97. Twitch/Glaz

**Author's Note:**

> 97: Twitch/Glaz - "You're so cute when you pout like that."

Twitch is concentrating so hard on her drone that she doesn’t hear the workshop door open.

There’s something not quite right with the steering controls - she noticed it on the day of a mission, was rather embarrassing, considering her main role in the team is Intel, and whilst it hadn’t had any impact on the mission at all, it easily could have done if she had needed to use it to disarm someone and missed due to the slight list to the right that comes with driving in a straight line.

It’s now the day after the mission, and this is the third thing she’s done since coming home, behind saying hello to her squad mates and accepting a sandwich from Montagne. It’s a good thing she had, because it’s been three hours, she’s still wearing the ragged old tracksuit she likes to fly in, and she’s no closer to figuring out the solution. 

She picks up the voltage gauge for what feels like the hundredth time and tests one of the capacitors responsible for wheel movement. Once again, she comes up with nothing; all the components working exactly how they should be, none of the wiring is damaged in any shape or form, and the microchip isn’t malfunctioning. 

She groans in annoyance and considers slamming her head into the workbench to see if it helps her think. 

“Still having trouble?”

She flinches at the sudden voice, hand automatically going for the nearest weapon, which happens to be the soldering iron, and brandishing it at the intruder. 

Glaz holds his hands up in surrender, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth, and Twitch relaxes. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” she says, putting the iron down and dragging a hand through her hair. 

“It’s okay, I should have knocked,” Glaz shrugs. He makes his way over to the bench, sitting down opposite her and leaning forwards to peer at the drone. “What’s wrong with it?”

Twitch sighs and launches herself into an explanation of what she’s done and what the problems could be, Glaz humming and nodding whenever she pauses for breath. It’s not the first time she’s used him as a rubber duck, and it’s almost become routine to find herself babbling away at him in search of an answer to all of her technological problems. She’s not sure when it started but she sure as hell isn’t complaining - it’s useful to speak it though with someone who doesn’t interrupt, and she likes Glaz. He’s good company and he’s reliable and he’s very easy on the eyes, and she’s not sure when that became something she thinks about, either. 

He smiles softly as she talks and it’s oddly soothing, and if she’s a little more dramatic than usual, in a (successful) attempt to make the smile grow, then nobody has to know. 

When she finishes her tale, she still hasn’t found the answer to her problem, and she finds that she’s not as annoyed about it as she’d have expected to be. 

Glaz tilts his head and mulls it over for a second. “Have you checked the wheel itself?” He asks, an odd expression on his face. “Maybe there’s a stone caught in the frame that’s limiting the movement?”

Twitch freezes before slapping a hand to her face. “No. I didn’t even think to look.”

Glaz watches as she goes back to the drone, unscrews the wheel in question, and plucks out a tiny lump of what looks like mud. 

“I’m an idiot,” she says, shaking her head at the mud. Glaz grins. 

“No, you’re just focusing too much on the complex things. Sometimes the simplest explication is the right one.”

“Occam’s razor,” she sighs, unable to hide her pout as she screws back on the wheel. 

When she looks back up, Glaz is watching her with soft eyes and that small smile again. 

“What?” She asks self consciously. 

A light flush appears on his cheeks. “Nothing. You’re just. Cute. When you pout like that.”

“I’m cute all the time, she says before thinking about it,” as though she’s bantering with IQ or Rook, and feels herself blush in embarrassment.“ Wait, I mean-”

“No, its true,” Glaz says simply, then looks suddenly sheepish, as though he’s just realised what he’s said. She feels her blush deepen, and hides the smile breaking across her face in her hand.

For a moment, they just look at each other in a silence that somehow isn’t awkward. The tops of his ears are red and he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. It’s ridiculously endearing, she thinks

“Want to go out to eat one day?” She blurts out, and promptly slaps a hand back over her mouth.

To her surprise, he smiles a proper smile that makes his eyes crinkle and dimples appear in his cheeks, and if she were a lesser woman she might have swooned. “I would like that,” he replies, dark eyes sparkling with that something that Twitch tentatively calls excitement. 

She’s pretty sure that she’s smiling like an idiot, but she can’t find it in herself to care. “Then it’s a date?" 

"It’s a date,” he agrees. 


	2. 32. Blitz/Bandit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blitz/Bandit - "This is, by far, the dumbest thing you've ever done."

“You know what?” Bandit starts, his chin resting on his hand as he watches Blitz chug down another glass of beer in 5 seconds flat, caught somewhere between disgust and amusement. The crowd around them cheer as he slams the glass down, and Fuze grumbles something under his breath in defeat before tossing a £5 note in Blitz’s direction.

Blitz pretends to bow victoriously, much to the joy of the crowd, and Bandit watches as Valkyrie pushes her way forwards to take the seat opposite them.

Just as she sits down, Thermite hollers for karaoke and successfully diverts most of the crowd over to the other side of the room where the machine patiently awaits. Valkyrie looks torn for a brief second – she normally performs at least one song, picked out by Blackbeard and almost always something dirty – before Blitz waves at her and says, “I’ll still be here later, go and sing!”

She grins at him, holds her hand out for a fist bump, and leaves just as quickly as she’d arrived, leaving Blitz leaning into Bandit’s side and grinning merrily. His cheeks are flushed from the alcohol and his eyes are dancing, and Bandit would lean over to kiss him if they weren’t sat in the middle of a crowded pub. Whilst the base knows that the pair of them are officially a thing (and have been for _months_ ), it's apparently still new enough that every little gesture makes them coo - or, in the case of Smoke, toss a handful of condoms at them at every given opportunity. It’s a bit like being back in high school, really - especially since four of the younger operators are now doing a staggeringly accurate rendition of Britney Spear's _Toxic_.  

“What do I know?” Blitz grins, interrupting Bandit’s train of thought and gently kicking him in the calf. He's got a tiny bit of foam stuck to the top of his lip, which is endearing and gross and makes him look ridiculous. Bandit takes pity on him and wipes it away with a fond roll of his eyes.

“This is, by far, the stupidest thing you've ever done,” he says mildly, because it truly _is_. Fuze had been the last in a line of four to be defeated by Blitz’s lack of a gag reflex and subsequent ability to drink down anything far quicker than a normal human should probably be able to. It’s both impressive and gross, and he’s a little more than relieved that it only happens on a rare occasion, like before a rare day off, because it usually ends up with Blitz being drunk and needing to be carried home, which isn't exactly the easiest job in the world.

Blitz throws his head back and laughs, audible even over Rook’s singing. “I've made 20 euros, this is the _best_ idea!” he replies, voice almost a shout and drawing a few looks back their way.

“You definitely haven't,” Bandit tells him, plucking the money from Blitz’s hands and putting it in his wallet with the rest of Blitz’s winnings. “And I'm pretty sure you've had enough, now, if you've seriously forgotten the currency.”

“I was joking!” Blitz quickly says, in a way that makes Bandit believe that he was not joking at all. “And it's not that late!”

He points towards the clock on the wall, which currently reads 21:43, and means that he’s been in the pub for going on three hours. Bandit had arrived an hour later – there had been an unfortunate situation involving a forklift, an ammo crate, and a fire axe back on base – so he’s not exactly sure when Blitz started, but he’s fairly sure that Blitz has had plenty all the same.

Blitz pouts sadly, which is ridiculously effective, because Bandit has never been able to deny Blitz anything at the best of times, let alone when he looks so _sad_. It’s something he only ever does when he’s in the stage between ‘drunk’ and ‘sloshed’, at least, which is a small bit of comfort when Bandit gives in.

He sighs, cursing his soft heart, and gives Blitz a fiver back - which should be able to buy him a single beer and not much more. He receives a quick, “I love you, you're the best!” and a firm kiss on the cheek in kind before Blitz is gone in a flurry of surprisingly coordinated movement, presumably in search of Valkyrie, who’s perched on the arm of a chair and looking rather out of breath. Someone whistles from across the room: he's almost 100% sure it was IQ, so he doesn’t bother responding, and instead turns his attention to the tiny stage where a frazzled looking Thatcher is now arguing with the karaoke machine.

Montagne comes to keep him company for a while – mostly to moan about their dumb, idiot teammates and their seemingly endless trend of getting into trouble, which means he’s had at least two glasses of brandy. Bandit lets him waffle on, half listening to the older man’s rambling thoughts and half keeping an eye on Blitz, who is at the bar with Smoke and Mute and likely to end up in trouble at some point in the near future if he’s not careful.

He makes his return four songs later, which is rather a bit earlier than Bandit was expecting. His £5 has become £35, which is unsurprising, and his legs are working just well enough to get him to their table without falling over.

He staggers to a halt, face flushed and wobbling on his feet, and Bandit just barely manages to sling an arm out around his waist to catch him before he tumbles into the wall.

“I'm back!” he shouts, voice slurred and happy, and Bandit is almost annoyed by how ridiculously fond he is of the idiot.

Montagne jumps up with surprising coordination to help steer Blitz into a seat, which is a relief, because Bandit’s arm isn't strong enough to hold up the entirety of Blitz’s weight by far, despite Blitz’s best efforts to make him do so.

“You're back,” Bandit replies dryly, accepting the wet kiss Blitz plants on his forehead.

“I'll leave you to it,” Montagne says with an exaggerated wink, and laughs as Bandit flips him off.

Blitz smiles warmly at him until the music starts back up, the speakers blaring the bass with far too much force. It’s enough to make Bandit wince, so he can only imagine how loud it is to Blitz, who drops his head to rest against the sticky surface of the table.

“Can we go?” Blitz asks, hands pressing against his temples. “It’s a bit loud, my brain hurts.”

“You’re an idiot,” Bandit tells him, gently patting him on the head and earning a whine for his trouble. “Have you had any water?”

Blitz groans, which Bandit takes as a no, so he pushes his half full glass of lemonade across the table to him, because any drink is better than no drink, and texts IQ to say that they’re leaving.

She sends him a myriad of emojis in return in place of anything remotely useful, so he texts Ash instead. He gets a thumbs up from her, which is better than nothing, so he gently prods Blitz until he sits up and drinks the lemonade.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he says, waving at IQ across the room before standing up and nudging at Blitz’s shoulders in an attempt to make him move.

“My _face_ hurts,” Blitz replies, ever so eloquently, and lets Bandit heave him upright.

“I _told_ you that you’d had enough,” Bandit huffs, wrapping an arm firmly around his waist and beginning the slow walk towards the door. It’s a bit of a task, really – the tables are close together and still mostly occupied, and Blitz is made almost entirely of solid, compact muscle, which makes him far heavier than he looks. It’s one of Bandit’s favourite things about him apart from at times like this, when it’s far more of a hinderance than a help. “For someone so smart, you’re incredibly stupid, sometimes.”

Blitz blushes and flops his head to rest on Bandit’s shoulder. He mumbles something that Bandit doesn’t quite hear – probably a denial, because Blitz is terrible at taking any sort of compliment – before gently squeezing on Bandit’s wrist.

“’Love you,” he says, voice slurred but undeniably affectionate, and it makes Bandit’s heart jump in his chest in the exact same way it did six months ago, when Blitz had first blurted it out.

“Yeah, I know,” he replies, gently pressing his mouth to Blitz’s temple. He smells like beer and sweat and it’s not particularly pleasant at all, but it’s _Blitz,_ so he can’t bring himself to care. “I love you too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> katalicz.tumblr.com


	3. 100. Blitz/Bandit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bliban, "I adore you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhokay you might be glad to know that I am still alive and kicking, and I'm really really sorry with the delay in getting this out.  
> It's also possibly THE sappiest, most emotional thing I've ever written, so I hope you like it?

Blitz wakes up slowly and surrounded by warmth, which is infinitely better than jerking awake in a freezing cold police station somewhere in the north of France.

It takes a few minutes for him to gather his thoughts – he’s been away from base for so long that it takes a moment to realise that the bed that he’s in is his own and not a hard bunk or an itchy sleeping bag, and it takes slightly longer to realise that the source of the warmth isn't one of Doc’s fancy heated blankets but instead Bandit, who’s still fast asleep and curled around his back like an octopus.

The realisation makes him smile fondly and sink back into Bandit’s hold, which earns him a mumble and a brief tightening of the protective arm that’s slung around his waist.

He hasn’t seen Bandit in almost two months, and he’s _missed_ him. They’ve spent the time running raids alongside the rest of the base on Six’s orders – with the aim of takin out as many hideouts as possible, all in one fell swoop – and Bandit had, of course, been put on the squad working on the other side of the world to Blitz’s. They’d barely been able to message, let alone call or skype, and Blitz is fairly sure that _that_ is worse than the exhaustion and stress and anxiety of all the missions put together.

So he takes advantage of being at home and in bed with him now, and carefully wriggles over so that he can look at Bandit’s face. It’s abnormally prickly with stubble and streaked with what appears to be gun oil and ash, but it’s _Bandit_ and he loves him, so he leans forwards to press a kiss to the tip of his nose all the same.

Bandit huffs quietly and shifts, eyes moving beneath their lids and messy hair gleaming in the pale morning light, and that is when Blitz notices a few strands of grey entwined with the brown.

He blinks in surprise and reaches out to touch them – they _definitely_ hadn’t been there a few weeks ago; he’d trimmed Bandit’s hair himself, just before he left, and he’d certainly have noticed them then if he’d somehow missed them any other time.

Bandit shifts again as Blitz gently slides his fingers through the hair at his temples, and Blitz hushes him gently. He wants to be able to look whilst Bandit is still asleep, because heaven knows he won’t get chance to when he wakes up; Bandit doesn’t exactly like being looked at, even by Blitz, which is mildly irritating because Blitz _likes_ to look at him.

The hushing clearly doesn’t work, for Bandit goes stiff where he’s lying, and his eyes shoot open in their usual sharp, paranoid manner.

“It’s only me,” Blitz murmurs, gently pulling his hand away and moving his face back slightly so he doesn’t have to cross his eyes to look into Bandit’s own.

Bandit peers at him tiredly before sighing and relaxing back down. “Mornin’,” he grumbles, voice thick with sleep.

Blitz grins at him. “What time did you get back last night?” he asks, because it must have been late if Bandit didn’t even bother to wake him up to say hello, or even take a shower.

“Three?” Bandit says, a question more than an answer, and he turns his head away so that the kiss Blitz means to land on his mouth lands on his cheek instead.

Blitz pouts and earns a gentle pinch to his side for his efforts.

“Your breath smells,” Bandit huffs, closing his eyes again and tucking himself further into the covers. “Go brush your damn teeth, first.”

“ _You_ smell,” Blitz teases back, unoffended. “You really need a shower; you smell like you haven’t washed in days.”

Bandit cracks open an eye to glare at him. There’s no heat behind it, though, and the corner of his mouth is twitching, so Blitz risks leaning in to press a kiss to his temple and beams when Bandit doesn’t wriggle away.

“Yes, it’s almost as though I haven’t,” Bandit says, thumb rubbing circles into Blitz’s hip affectionately. “We didn’t have chance to do much more than eat, despite being delayed for five fucking hours.”

Blitz winces. “That sucks,” he says, sympathetic, because there is little worse than finishing a mission and ending up stuck in an unfamiliar airbase in an unfamiliar country, waiting for whatever plane Six has managed to schedule to come and pick them up. “You could have at least washed your face before getting in my bed, though,” he adds with a grin, and reaches down to take hold of Bandit’s hand before it can pinch him again.

Bandit looks at him, somewhere between fond and exasperated. “ _Your_ bed?” he asks, “you’re officially moving in, then?”

“What?” Blitz asks, then, when Bandit rolls his eyes, glances around to find that they are, in fact, in Bandit’s room instead of his own. He must have got mixed up in the dark, his mind addled with exhaustion and probably more than a bit of longing for Bandit to be back.

“You’re an idiot,” Bandit says, more than a little bit fondly, then untangles himself from the covers and sits up. “I’ll go shower, if I’m _offending_ you so much.”

He dodges the hand Blitz reaches out to flick him with, grinning roguishly. Blitz sits up after him, because he _does_ look unfairly good in the morning light, oil streaks and tired, baggy eyes and all, and says, “I’ve missed you.”

Bandit’s grin softens. “I’ve missed you too,” he says, and leans in to press a kiss to the corner of Blitz’s mouth, clearly not that bothered by morning breath that much.

The movement draws Blitz’s attention back to the smattering of silvery hairs at his temple, and he can’t help but reach out to thread his fingers through them again.

“When did you get these, by the way?” He can’t help but ask,

Oddly, the action makes Bandit stiffen up and pull away, face suddenly blank and void of any emotion in a way that Blitz hasn’t seen in months.

“Dom?” Blitz manages to say, but Bandit is already moving, pushing to his feet without a word and stalking over to the bathroom, and Blitz is left gaping at his back for a moment before reacting.

He hurdles out of bed, nearly tripping over the duvet in his haste, and manages to dart inside the bathroom before Bandit can close the door. The bathroom isn't exactly the biggest in the world, and he ends up pressed against Bandit’s chest before Bandit moves away, something that looks worryingly like _fear_ in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Blitz asks, reaching out to place a questioning hand on Bandit’s arm. It isn't shrugged off and Bandit doesn’t move away, so he carefully steps forwards and takes gentle hold of Bandit’s waist. “What did I do?”

“It’s nothing,” Bandit replies, looking somewhere over Blitz’s shoulder instead of his eyes, and Blitz really doesn’t have to be an expert on body language _or_ Bandit to know that he’s lying. “Go back to bed, I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Do you really think I'm an idiot?” Blitz asks gently, and that at least gets Bandit to smile, ever so slightly.

“All the time,” Bandit huffs, quietly teasing before looking oddly sad again. Blitz know him well enough to see how hard he’s trying to hide it, and that _hurts_ , to know Bandit doesn’t trust him completely, the way Blitz trusts him. “Look, it’s fine, you haven’t done anything. Have you seen the others since you got back?”

Blitz snorts, half amused at his blatant attempt to evade the question. “Nice try,” he says, and Bandit’s face falls, so minutely that Blitz would miss it if he weren’t watching so closely. “Did I say something?”

The way that Bandit stiffens even further under his touch confirms that yes, he _did_.

Blitz sighs and rubs his thumbs over the points of Bandit’s hips, trying to figure out what to say, preferably without digging himself into a hole and upsetting Bandit further. He doesn’t look annoyed, though, only _sad,_ and Blitz isn't sure if that’s better or worse than if Bandit were angry at him.

He gazes up at him, taking in the lines of worry that’ve etched themselves across his brow, the crows-feet around his eyes that crinkle so endearingly when he smiles or laughs, the way he’s chewing so slightly on the inside of his cheek in what Blitz knows to be an anxious tic. He makes no move to pull away, despite how uncomfortable he looks at being under Blitz’s rather intense scrutiny, and gods, Blitz _loves_ him.

“You know I love you, right?” he says, carefully, softly, still trying to figure out what he’s going to say, and for a brief moment he thinks Bandit is going to cry.

“Elias—” Bandit murmurs, hands trembling where they come to rest on Blitz’s elbows, and it’s that which pushes Blitz on.

“Because I _do_ ,” he says, gazing directly into Bandit’s dark eyes and trying to will him to understand, because clearly in their time apart he’s forgotten how much he _means_ to Blitz. “I love you, and I won’t judge you for anything, okay? If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, just don’t—” his voice cracks slightly as Bandit drops his head, a flush dusting the tips of his ears pink. “Don’t push me away, please?”

Bandit open and closes his mouth a few times, more lost than Blitz has ever seen him, and it makes his chest ache to see this sudden vulnerability, so out of character for Bandit.

“It’s _stupid_ ,” Bandit complains weakly, his thumbs digging into the meat of Blitz’s arms slightly too hard to be natural. “Just forget it.”

Blitz huffs. “It isn't if it’s upsetting you,” he says gently, and Bandit at least rolls his eyes at that. “But I’m not going to force you. Want me to leave you alone?”

 Bandit seems to have an internal struggle for a moment, mouth twisted to the side and eyebrows furrowed, before shaking his head bitterly. “You’re too goddamn _nice_ ,” he says, gently pushing Blitz back and turning away to grab his washbag from the floor, where it had clearly been thrown the night before.

“I’m exactly as nice as I need to be,” Blitz argues, one eyebrow raised, confused. “You _deserve_ nice.”

Bandit drops the bag on the counter next to the sink with a quiet _thud_ and starts to unpack. Blitz doesn’t miss the way his hands are shaking, the way he refuses to look in the mirror to meet Blitz’s eyes.

“ _You_ deserve better,” he snaps back, voice slightly hoarse, and Blitz freezes in surprise. He hadn’t been expecting _that_.

“ _What?”_

Bandit turns to glare at him in a way that would be vicious if it weren’t for the _insecurity_ burning in his eyes. “You deserve better than _me_ ,” he says, the words harsh and loud in the small room, and Blitz’s heart aches to reach out and touch him. “You deserve someone who’s fit and happy and young, not—”

He breaks off with a strangled noise, tears in his eyes and a hand dragging its way through his hair. He looks _wrecked_ , more distressed than Blitz has ever seen him before, and he realises with a jolt that Bandit must have been worrying about this for _months_.

“You _idiot_ ,” he breathes, stepping forwards, unable to stop himself from dragging Bandit into a fierce hug. It takes almost a minute for Bandit to relax, body shaking slightly, before he winds his arms around Blitz’s back and clutches him like a lifeline.

They stand there for what could be minutes or what could be hours, until Bandit has stopped trembling and his breathing has evened out, until Blitz has calmed the panicked adrenaline that the words had sent surging through his veins, trying to figure out exactly what could have brought this on.

“You think I’m going to leave you,” he says, a statement instead of a question, and the way Bandit tightens the grip on his waist confirms it.

Blitz sighs and presses a kiss to Bandit’s temple, just between the deepening lines around his eyes and the greying hairs that must be the source of some of the worry. The way Bandit shudders as he does so makes his chest ache like it’s been punched – he hates to see Bandit suffer, and suffer he must have been, if it’s enough to cause a reaction like _this_.

He gently pulls away, reaching up to cup Bandit’s face with one hand to keep him from looking away, and leans up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I adore you,” he says, gently running a thumb across Bandit’s cheek. “I adore you, and nothing is ever going to change that.”

Bandit’s eyes go shiny with tears again, even as he presses his face into Blitz’s hand. He opens his mouth as though to say something before deciding the better of it, and Blitz doesn’t have to be a genius to figure out that he was going to protest.

“Not even if you go all wrinkly and grey and need me to carry you around everywhere,” he says, gently teasing to test the waters, and smiling when Bandit pinches him slightly too viciously in the ribs. “I’ll love you the same, even then. You’re _it_ \- I wouldn’t _want_ anyone else.”

A high-pitched noise escapes Bandit’s throat at that and Blitz pulls him back in before the tears start to fall, running his fingers up and down his spine in an attempt to be comforting. He drops his head to rest on Bandit’s own and sighs. “How long have you been worrying about this?”

Bandit shrugs weakly and doesn’t offer an answer, so Blitz lets the matter go. It doesn’t matter really, he supposes, just as long as Bandit knows that there’s no need to worry at all.

“I _adore_ you,” he says again, pouring as much affection as he possibly can into it, because it’s true, and he doesn’t intend to let Bandit forget it again.

“I’m sorry,” Bandit murmurs a few minutes later, his voice slightly muffles where it’s pressed against Blitz’s shoulder. Blitz gently pinches him for his trouble. He has nothing to be sorry about, after all, but Bandit continues talking before he can protest. “It’s been a _really_ shit month and the others said something dumb, and I’ve _missed_ you.”

“What did they say?” Blitz asks sharply, before he can stop himself, and Bandit pulls back to look at him with achingly fond eyes.

“It was nothing about us, just some stupid offhand comment Fuze made – Kapkan was trying to hit on the barmaid.” Blitz snorts at that, because of _course_ Kapkan was. “I thought about it too much, because you’re _you_ and you could do so much _better_ —”

Blitz kisses him to shut him up. “Don’t you _dare_ say that again,” he huffs, jabbing a finger into Bandit’s side. “I wouldn’t want anyone other than you, you idiot. I wouldn’t be _with_ you if I did.”

Bandit hums softly with what Blitz hopes is acceptance, and says, “I love you too.”

“I know,” he murmurs back, warmth settling in his chest like honey. They’re possibly his favourite words to hear Bandit say, and it soothes the tiny portion of his mind that had panicked for a brief second that Bandit was going to _leave_ him. “C’mon, let’s go back to bed.”

He gently eases himself out of Bandit’s grip and leans up to kiss him firmly on the mouth, smiling when Bandit returns it with as much vigour.

“Your bed, or mine?” Bandit asks, voice light and joking, but Blitz doesn’t miss the look of hesitation that flashes across Bandit’s face before he follows him out of the bathroom.

“ _Ours_ ,” Blitz says, and the smile that spreads across Bandit’s face makes the last half hour of pain worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> katalicz.tumblr.com


	4. 84. Jäger/IQ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 84: Jäger/IQ - "I can't believe you talked me into this."

Not for the first time in her life, IQ regrets ever agreeing to join Rainbow, if only because it would have meant that she wouldn’t know Jäger, and therefore wouldn’t be faced with the situation she’s in now.

“No,” she says, for the fifth time in as many minutes, as Jäger cheerfully straps himself into his rig with a practiced ease. She’s jealous for all of one second before realising that she doesn’t _ever_ want to have to get used to needing to know how to use a parachute. It’s a good look on him, though, accentuating the sharp lines of his shoulders and hips and thighs and crotch.

She quickly looks away and hopes he doesn’t notice her blush.

“Yes,” he replies easily, and gives her the same smile he’d used to bribe her here in the first place. She hates that she’s become so _easy_ , goddamn it, and has to fight to keep herself from doing something stupid, like smothering him with a parachute, or pouting like an overgrown child.

“ _No_ ,” she huffs again, but her body betrays her and she cautiously picks up the rig – which is just a fancy backpack with too many straps, really.  Something swoops anxiously in her stomach, because this is all that will prevent her from plummeting to her death, and she does _not_ like the thought of that at all.

She stares at the straps and buckles and loops and backpack – container, her mind uselessly corrects - and finds that despite having just undergone five hours of skydiving theory, she has no idea how to go about putting it on.

“You shot six people last Wednesday and you’re scared of _this_?” Jäger asks, lips curled up in a teasing smile, but she doesn’t miss the look of definite pride in his eyes.

“That was for work, I'm trained for that!” she says, trying to keep the note of fear from her voice, because she _knows_ it’s irrational to be more afraid of a simple skydive than a full-on, shoot-to-kill gunfight, and yet somehow, she is.

“You’re trained for this too, now,” Jäger replies, tightening his chest strap again and rolling his eyes at her. “I packed your ‘chute myself, I’ll strap you in tight, and it’ll be _fine_. You’ll enjoy it, I promise.”

IQ fails to see how plummeting from 15,000 feet in the sky could ever bring her any enjoyment whatsoever, but she supposes that she does trust Jäger completely and utterly with her life. He’s been doing this for longer than she’s known how to fire a gun, after all, and she’s not blind enough to miss how much he loves it, eyes blazing with adrenaline and excitement that’s almost infectious.

It’s that combined with the fact that he cares enough to check all her gear himself, despite the airbase having it already set up for them, that enables her to force out a breath and smile tensely back at him. She doesn’t resist as he comes over and gently tugs the rig from her hands.

“I can’t _believe_ you talked me into this,” she says without any conviction, and Jäger snorts as he undoes the leg straps.

“Neither can I, to be honest,” he says, circling behind her. “I thought you’d definitely say no. Put your arms out?”

She does as she’s told and shrugs the rig up onto her shoulders, the weight sitting oddly comfortably against her back.

Jäger reappears in front of her and presses a quick kiss to her cheek before dropping to a crouch. “I’m just going to pull your leg straps through, don’t get too excited.”

She slaps him upside the head as he does so and earns a gentle pinch to the thigh for her trouble. “There are people _watching_ ,” she says, as though she hadn’t been considering dragging him into one of the locker rooms when he’d been doing up his own leg straps less than two minutes ago.

“That’s never stopped you before.” He grins as he pulls one of the straps tightly around her thigh, clever fingers making quick work of the buckle before moving on to the other one.  IQ hides her blush in her hands but feels oddly better for the banter, as though it’s a perfectly normal day instead of one she’s spent preparing to leap from a plane to her potential doom.

Jäger straightens up and reaches for her chest strap, the tip of his tongue held between his teeth in the way she knows means he’s concentrating, and she can’t help but smile fondly at the sight.

“Feel alright?” he asks when he’s done, eyebrow cocked in a way that _definitely_ means he’d spotted her sappy look. He chooses not to comment on it, for once, and she’s grateful for it.

The straps dig in a bit too much to be comfortable and she’s got a horrible mix of terrified anticipation and excitement filling her veins, but she finds herself nodding all the same. “Not too bad,” she shrugs. “Might lose feeling in my feet, though.”

Jäger chews his lower lip and peers at the straps. “I can loosen them a little, but I thought you’d rather have them a bit too tight, so you know they’re still there.”

IQ blinks at him in mild surprise before grinning, because although she hadn’t realised it, he’s exactly right. The pressure is secure, a constant reminder that she’s not going to slip out of it and freefall, and she’s touched yet again that he’s put so much _thought_ into it.  

“They’re perfect,” she tells him, and he grins back.

“I’ll just go and get checked, then I think we’ll be ready to go,” he says, holding his fist up. She bumps it with her own automatically – she’s not quite sure when he trained her to do it, but it’s _their_ thing, now, and some of the terror gives way to a surge of affection.  

“I’ll try not to panic to death until you get back,” she says, catching the helmet he tosses at her.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” he replies, grinning, and she can’t help the laugh that escapes her throat, nerves slipping away to be replaced with pure excitement.

.

(She doesn’t plummet to her death, in the end. They do, however get banned from the unisex locker room for traumatising the cleaning staff. Jäger’s excuse is the adrenaline. IQ’s excuse is the harness.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see, fellas. have some iq/jager for the soul.  
> i did 3 hours of research on skydiving for this damn thing - im petrified of heights and dont know anyone who's been, so forgive me if the terminology is a bit skewy.


	5. 19. Blitz/Bandit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 19\. "I could kill you right now!" Blitz/Bandit

Blitz has been awake for long enough to realise that he is, once more, in a hospital, when the door to his room swings open and Bandit appears, still in his gear and with a furious look on his face.

“You’re an _idiot_!” he bites out, striding forwards and throwing himself into the chair by Blitz’s bedside before Blitz can open his mouth to say hello. He can’t even protest that he isn't an idiot, because he isn't exactly sure what he’s done this time to end up here. The painkillers are making his entire body feel horribly fuzzy and his mind is still mostly blank from the anaesthetic, which is enough to tell him that he’s had more than a little fall, at least.

“Hi,” he says – or croaks, rather, since his throat feels as though he’s gargled a handful of gravel, and Bandit scowls before carefully guiding a cup of water he’s procured from seemingly nowhere to Blitz’s lips to allow him to drink.

“What time is it?” Blitz asks when he’s finished, watching as Bandit tosses the cup over his shoulder to land neatly in the bin. It’s very impressive, he thinks, but doesn’t say it for the fear of annoying Bandit more.

“It’s almost seven,” Bandit replies, crossing his arms. Blitz doesn’t have the strength to reach out and take one of his hands, which is a little concerning, but overall, that’s not too bad considering that the raid had started at eleven.

The thought must show on his face, because Bandit closes his eyes in frustration and says, “Seven _am_. You’ve been here for 15 hours, you _idiot_.”

Ah. That explains the fury, then, as well as the dark bags sitting like bruises beneath Bandit’s eyes. Knowing him, which Blitz is pleased to say he does, he’ll have been awake all this time, prowling through the hospital ward and making anyone he encounters shy away in terror.

“I feel fine,” he says mildly, and tries to wiggle his toes. They respond after a few attempts, thankfully, and he looks back up to see Bandit watching him with a worryingly unreadable look on his face. “It can’t have been _that_ bad.”

“You don’t remember what happened,” Bandit says flatly, a statement instead of a question. Blitz winces when he has try harder than usual to shake his head no. “And stop _moving_ before Doc sees you and ties you to the damn bench.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Blitz muses, still trying and failing to read the look in Bandit’s eyes. He hopes it’s just the drugs making him slow; he’d spent a ridiculous amount of time learning to read Bandit’s many, _many_ faces, and really doesn’t want to consider that he’s forgotten any of them. He’d probably earn an award for being a terrible boyfriend, if he had. “He likes me, I’m a good patient.”

Bandit blinks at him once, and Blitz’s heart lurches in his chest as the look fades from unreadable to completely blank in the way it only does when Bandit is shutting himself away from the world and away from any kind of emotion and away from _Blitz_.

“Dom?” he says, as gently as he can, and forces his arm out to grasp weakly at Bandit’s clenched hands.

It’s the wrong thing to do; Bandit lurches to his feet with a snarl, sending his chair clattering to the floor. His body is wrought with a tension that makes Blitz’s shoulders ache to look at, and he wants to reach out, to sit up and draw him close, but he _can’t_.

“Bandit—” he starts weakly, not knowing what else to do. For a painful beat nothing happens, then Bandit is turning on his heal and storming away with a cold fury that makes Blitz’s chest hurt to watch.

“You almost _died!_ ” Bandit snaps, eyes glinting dangerously when he turns, and Blitz’s breath catches in his throat as the meaning of the words sink in. “You took a bullet an inch away from your _goddamn_ spine, you absolute _fucking_ _idiot_ —”

“I didn’t, though,” Blitz hears himself say, even as his blood seems to freeze in his veins with terror, as his pulse thunders in his ears.  “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

Bandit pauses in his tracks to stare at him, and Blitz’s skin prickles under the intensity of his gaze. “I could _kill_ you right now!” Bandit snarls, resuming his pacing of the room, his hands clenched into tight fists that will leave him with a headache if he carries on much longer.

“Please don’t, we spent a lot of time fixing him,” Doc interrupts, appearing in the doorway and smiling wanly at Blitz.

Bandit throws a thunderous glare at him but doesn’t reply, and Doc watches him for a moment before cautiously making his way to Blitz’s bedside.

“How do you feel?” he asks gently, and Blitz closes his eyes for a moment to pull himself together. When he opens them, Doc is watching calmly, the eye of the storm that’s still quite literally raging around them.

“Sore,” he replies, wincing as his voice cracks and gratefully accepting the cup of water Doc offers him.

“As you’ve probably heard, you were quite lucky,” Doc says as Blitz drinks, and Blitz has the feeling that he’d be in for a lecture if Doc weren’t looking so worn out. “It wasn’t quite so bad as Bandit was making out, since he ran off when one of the nurses told him to prepare for the worst, which due to the position of the bullet, we initially believed were paralysis or stroke.”

There’s a distressed sound at that which Blitz eventually realises came from _him_ , and a brief pause in pacing when Bandit appears to trip over his own feet. Blitz inhales deeply, holds it for a count of five to try and stop himself from panicking, and exhales.

“What was it actually, then?” he asks quietly, and Doc smiles wanly.

“The bullet was almost stopped by your armour and ended up lodged four centimetres to the left of your upper thoracic spine. The shockwave from the impact would have done the most damage, and whilst we _were_ worried about the risk of paralysis for a while, the MRIs and ultrasound show no damage to the spinal cord or surrounding structures due to low-velocity and low-calibre.” Doc folds his hands together and shrugs.  “We did surgery to remove the bullet, flushed the area to prevent infection, sealed a small tear to your dura, and stitched you up. Easy as that.”

Nothing about it seems easy to Blitz but he nods weakly anyway and closes his eyes again, unwilling to look at Doc’s tired face, at Bandit’s wrath. “That’s good,” he says weakly, and hears Bandit snort from somewhere to his left. “I’m glad it wasn’t a rifle shot.” He’s only half joking, and winces with regret when Bandit curses at him and resumes his stomping with increased vigour.

“So am I,” Doc says quietly, “because then we _would_ be faced with the worst.”

There’s sombre silence for a second, broken only by Bandit’s frantic footsteps, before Doc sighs. “Will you _please_ sit down?” he asks quietly, and the pacing stops, leaving the room uncomfortably quiet. “I’ll sedate you if not; you’re only making yourself worse.”

“Fuck you,” Bandit growls, from much closer now, and a hot hand closes around Blitz’s own. If he clings onto it with enough force to feel the bones shift slightly, Bandit doesn’t seem to notice, and Doc doesn’t seem to care.

He forces his eyes open to find Bandit sat down again, elbow on his knee and face hidden by his free hand. Doc is still watching worriedly, and shrugs a shoulder when Blitz meets his eyes.

“We’ll need to keep you here overnight before returning to base,” he says apologetically, dragging a hand through his hair. “Just to make sure there are no complications from the surgery. Then we’ll do some tests to ensure the nervous system is functioning properly, which shouldn’t take too long.”

Blitz nods, even as fear flutters through his stomach. Bandit’s grip tightens on his hand to the point where it’s almost painful. “How long will it take to recover?” he asks, not really wanting to hear the answer.

Doc sighs. “Not too long, we hope. There will be some muscle weakness due to the surgery but that should pass within a week, and you should be back to normal within a month, with any luck.”

Blitz squeezes Bandit’s hand again and relaxes for the first time since waking up. “That’s not too bad then,” he says, and Doc smiles again.

“Not too bad at all,” he confirms. “Though if you do it again, you’ll be benched from the team until you learn _not_ to run directly into the line of fire like an idiot.”

“I’ll kill you myself if you do it again,” Bandit says hoarsely, peering up through his fingers and scowling fiercely. The effect is ruined by the redness rimming his eyes and the slight tremble to his shoulders, and Blitz’s heart _aches_ for him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, smiling tiredly at the small “ _fuck you_ ,” he earns for his trouble, and startling when Doc stands up to stretch.

“Anyway,” Doc says, stepping back and checking the line of machines along the wall. “I’ll give you another dose of painkillers but won’t bother putting you under again so we can finish the tests. And if you can persuade him to at least get changed, we’d all be very grateful.” He shoots a mildly amused look at Bandit, who flips him off half-heartedly, and Blitz wrinkles his nose in sympathy with the medical staff. His gear is still filthy with the usual dust and grime from being in the field, and he probably stinks of sweat and gunpowder too.

“I’ll do my best,” he promises, grimacing as Doc fiddles with the machine hooked to the IV line and sends an uncomfortably cool flood of fluid into his veins. The pain that had slowly been building up between his shoulders lessens immediately, though, and he can’t help the small sigh of relief that escapes him.

Doc rolls his eyes and heads for the door. “You should have said it was hurting,” he scolds, “I would have given them to you first.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Blitz replies mildly, but Doc’s already gone, and suddenly the room feels far smaller.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” Bandit says quietly, voice gravelly and breathing loud. “I’m serious. I thought you were dead, when you went down.”

A painful lump forms in Blitz’s throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, closing his eyes. He’s hit with a wave of exhaustion, the painkillers and emotions and adrenaline getting the better of him, and when he opens his eyes again, he’s unsurprised to find his vision blurred and cheeks damp.

Bandit watches him quietly, thumb pressing firmly into the back of his hand. The empty storm in his eyes is gone, replaced with a tired sort of fear that Blitz is all too familiar with, from missions gone wrong and too many close calls, from nightmares and memories and silly accidents on base that shouldn’t be as frightening as walking into a gunfight but somehow are.

When he’s pulled himself together, he squeezes Bandit’s hand again and smiles weakly at him. “You look like shit, by the way,” he says teasingly. “It’s a good job I can’t smell you or I’d probably be in a coma.”

Bandit rolls his eyes and leans forwards to rest his elbow on the bed. “I’ll go and shower when they come and do your tests,” he promises. “The nurses here are a bit nervous.”

“They’re probably not usually, you’re just a bit terrifying,” Blitz yawns. “You knocked over a chair, nearly stomped through the floor, and threatened to kill me. _Twice_. It’s enough to make anyone nervous.”

Bandit rolls his eyes, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and doesn’t look sorry in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this in 5 hours instead of writing an essay lmao, hopefully it's legible and i hope you enjoyed it!!

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt list: http://fyeahaskmemes.tumblr.com/post/157887775967/writing-prompts  
> If you want one doing, just ask!  
> find me at katalicz.tumblr.com  
> leave me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/katalicz#


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